


Blaspheme

by andafaith



Series: Blaspheme [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Character Study, Cormac McLaggen - Freeform, Cunnilingus, Dubious Morality, F/M, Rare Pairings, Revenge Sex, Sex, Topping from the Bottom, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 05:13:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8736187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andafaith/pseuds/andafaith
Summary: “You’re not what I expected.”
 Arching an eyebrow, she asked, “And what did you expect?”
“I dunno – a quick shag in the loo, maybe. Baggage compartment.”
“You’re the one who’s gagging for it, McLaggen. I’m simply accommodating.”
“Your state of undress says otherwise, sweetheart,” he said, taking another swig of vodka and handing it off to her. 
A breathy snort of laughter passed through her nose. “Being naked means nothing.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Author’s Note:** Set during HBP. This is a character study more than anything. Reading Duality might help with understanding the situation, but it can be read without (It is your choice to decide whether this is canon to Duality or not). This is mostly about Daphne and her character. All you need to know is that Hermione Granger took Blaise Zabini to Slughorn’s Christmas Party with McLaggen as well and they had it out over her. Now, McLaggen is going after Zabini’s best friend/assumed girlfriend Daphne Greengrass in “revenge” for losing that battle. Also, Daphne is currently on a break from “occasionally fucking” Harry Potter due to irreconcilable differences. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Anything you recognize, I do not own. This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and various publishers including – but not limited to – Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Blaspheme**

**… And that One Time that Daphne Slept with Cormac McLaggen**

**}-{}-{}-{**

 

Daphne lazily glanced up from staring at the wheels of the Hogwarts Express to meet a pair of hazel eyes staring at her with keen interest.

 

**_Too_ ** _keen._

 

She flicked the ashes off her cigarette and exhaled a long breath full of smoke. “What do you want?”

 

McLaggen took a seat next to her on the bench while Daphne drew deeply at her fag. “Can’t leave a pretty girl like you sitting here all by herself. Someone might snatch her up before I even get the chance to talk to her.”

 

“Oh cut the bullshit, McLaggen,” Daphne said, rolling her eyes. She glanced up at him out of the corner of her eyes in suspicion. “What do you _really_ want?”

 

“Well… I s’pose, since Granger’s gone traipsing off with your boyfriend Zabini, you might want to…”

 

“Right. _Of course_ ,” Daphne interrupted sarcastically. Some people had a lot of nerve. “You think you can come over here and chat me up all smooth-like and I’ll go along with it because it’s so obvious that Blaise and I must be at odds due to his sudden interest in Hermione Granger.” She paused, gauging his reaction.

 

The surprised expression that spilled across his face told her that she guessed it right. How could she not? McLaggen was predictable and way too easy to read. 

 

When he didn’t say anything, she clarified, “Blaise and I are just best friends. He can do whatever he wants; I don’t give a fuck.”

 

_In fact, I was the one who put the idea of Granger in his head_. But she wasn’t going to tell him that.

 

“Oh, I think you do,” McLaggen drawled, resting his oversized hand on her knee at the edge of her skirt, stroking her along her skin with his thumb. The ‘charming’ smile pulling at the corners of his lips was vulgar at best. “You probably care more than you realize – and he’s an idiot. Doesn’t see what’s right in front of him.”

 

Snorting, Daphne exhaled a puff of smoke and plucked his hand away. “And _you_ do?”  She turned away from him to focus her gaze back on the Hogwarts Express. “Even if I wanted a revenge fuck or whatever, what makes you think I’d choose you?” Raising her eyebrow toward him, Daphne stood and vanished her dead cigarette with a flick of her wand. 

 

“I’ve everything you could possibly want – and more – so why _wouldn’t_ you?”

 

“Why do you think?” Daphne asked rhetorically, walking away before he could even try to answer. The bloody arrogant pricks in this school were astounding. She could hear his hurried footfalls behind her and sighed, pulling out her silver case to fish for another fag. What was it about her that made her attract arseholes?

 

“ _I think_ that we’d be good together,” McClaggen said, stepping in front of her and blocking her path. 

 

Daphne exhaled a cloud of smoke in his face. Even though his eyes watered, his lack of flinching was intriguing. “You wouldn’t be able to handle me.”

 

“Try me.”

 

Smirking, Daphne narrowed her eyes and stared at him straight on. “I would tear you into a million little bits and piss on the pieces.”

 

“Aggressive.” His gaze wavered from her face and swept over her slowly. “I like that.”

 

She couldn’t help but smile at that. “You’re fucked up.”

 

“You are too, sweetheart.”

 

Shaking her head in a mock-disappointed fashion, Daphne side stepped past McLaggen and continued toward the door to board the train – only to have McLaggen follow. She could feel him there, just behind her as she made her way through the carriages, trailing smoke in her wake. There was no reason for him to still be following her, but he did, regardless. Lord only knew why.

 

It wasn’t as if she was very forthcoming.

 

And, she could have stopped it easily – she could have grabbed hold of his bollocks through his trousers and threatened him to never proposition her again, which worked nine times out of ten – but she didn’t.

 

Instead, she stopped at the snack trolley, considering McLaggen out of the corner of her eye while she paid for a packet of sweets. The twat got a Butterbeer and she had no idea why she was waiting for him to finish up with the exchange. Part of her was going to blame this on temporary insanity, because that’s what it took to _consider_ Cormac McLaggen.

 

He was one of those persistent blokes who knew what he had and wasn’t afraid to put it all out there with a swagger of bravado and brashness that could only come from a Gryffindor. And he wanted a ‘revenge fuck’, but that was laughable because all of the ‘revenge’ would only exist in McLaggen’s head. Blaise wouldn’t care. Daphne wouldn’t care.

 

Only _he_ would care.

 

Perhaps it was that fact that made her stick around:

 

_The revenge is in **your** head; what are you going to do about it?_

 

After all, she had a couple hours to kill before she had to meet up with Blaise and Theo.

 

**}-{}-{}-{**

 

“So you’ve changed your mind, I take it,” McLaggen said as she pulled him into the first empty compartment she could find and locked and warded the door. He leaned up against the luggage rack and popped open his bottle of Butterbeer one-handed just as the train started taking off.

 

How fucking suave.

 

Daphne gave a shrug before reaching into her robe and pulling out her flask, which she saved for occasions involving temporary insanity. Exhaling all her breath, the vodka – charmed cold – briefly reminded her of her grandparent’s house as it crawled down her throat, warming her gently on the inside in spite of the frigid temperature of the liquid.

 

McLaggen was staring at her as if he was expecting something from her, but she didn’t feel like being generous – this was something _he_ wanted from _her_ – so she took a seat on the bench and crossed her legs as she leaned back. Taking a drag off her cigarette and downing two more large mouthfuls of vodka, she kept her eyes glued to his face. Analyzing.

 

He was a blonde pretty boy, who basically got everything handed to him and didn’t have to try much.

 

And she hated that she _always_ had to be the first one to make a move. There was a lot to be said about that first move. It spoke volumes. She’d punched Draco Malfoy in the face, pinned Zacharias Smith to a wall, rolled around half naked in bed with Blaise Zabini, and cornered and coaxed a kiss from Harry Potter.

 

_First moves._ It usually set the tone of sexual relationships.

 

So what would be _his?_ She was done with making the first moves.

 

McLaggen’s brow was creasing. “Is that Firewhiskey?”

 

“No.” She held the flask out to him. “Want some?”

 

It took less than three seconds for him to make a decision, accepting the flask with a shrugging tilt of his head and sitting opposite from her on the other bench.

 

“Ta,” he muttered, downing at least two large measures and clearing his throat just a little as he handed the flask back to her, trailing his fingers along hers in the exchange. “Smooth – whatever it is.”

 

“Vodka. My favourite.”

 

If that was supposed to be his first move, it was a piss poor one. But, she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt since he was probably used to girls throwing themselves at his feet.

 

His eyes were on her chest and her lips curved into a smirk as she downed just enough vodka to finally make her head start to feel a bit lighter.

 

_Much better._

 

Her cigarette was dead between her fingertips and she opened the window a little to flick it out, waiting for him to try something – bloody _anything_.

 

When he made no move to do anything, she rolled her eyes. Shoving her flask into his free hand, she let her cloak fall off her shoulders. Then, she followed that with unbuttoning her shirt. She wasn’t even trying to make this sexy, not that he seemed to notice. He sipped at her flask and watched with a vague expression of disbelief across his face. When she was down to only her skirt, she leaned back on the bench again, tugged her silver case from the pocket of her piled up robes, and lit another cigarette.

 

_When the bloody fuck are you going to make a move? Can’t you tell that I’m **waiting**? I’m trying to make it obvious for you._

 

Instead of saying that outright, she lightly drawled, “I’m beginning to think that you’re all mouth and no trousers.” Smoke curled from her lips.

 

That crease in his forehead was back and his eyes strayed to bruises and the slice up the side of her ribs. “Did you get into a fight with someone?”

 

“No,” she lied through her teeth, her face utterly devoid of any indication that she was.

 

“You’re not what I expected.” _Finally_ , he looked back up at her face.

 

 Arching an eyebrow, she asked, “And what did you expect?”

 

“I dunno – a quick shag in the loo, maybe. Baggage compartment.”

 

“You’re the one who’s gagging for it, McLaggen. I’m simply accommodating.”

 

“Your state of undress says otherwise, sweetheart,” he said, taking another swig of vodka and handing it off to her.

 

A breathy snort of laughter passed through her nose. “Being naked means nothing.”

 

“Prove it,” he muttered, an excited glint in his eyes as they trailed from her skirt and back up to her face.

 

“Impress me and perhaps I will,” Daphne countered, taking a drink from her flask as his eyebrows rose at her presented challenge.

 

Setting his bottle of Butterbeer onto the floor, McLaggen stripped off his robe and shirt, tossing them aside. She considered him again – he was all broad muscles and length and he definitely knew what he had. But it took a lot more than an attractive expanse of skin and self-confidence to impress her. McLaggen toed off his shoes – unbuckled his belt. His fingers deftly undid the top button on his trousers, but he kept it like that. He didn’t go any further, even though his cock was a clear bulge and he probably wanted to relieve the pressure by now. She’d been friends with boys long enough to understand that fact.

 

That fact also made it _extremely_ apparent that he had practiced this before – strip teasing himself in front of a mirror in his dorm, no doubt. He’d worked out all of the appealing angles and the right amount of seductive dishevelment. What a tosser.

 

An _enticing_ tosser, but still a tosser.

 

McLaggen presented himself with open arms. “What do you think?”

 

Sighing around her cigarette, Daphne stared at him expectantly. “I know that breasts get you hard, but I’m slightly more difficult to please.”

 

“Zabini has a handful then, yeah?” McLaggen asked amusedly, his question filled with so much meaning. His eyes were a bit hazy from the vodka and she was certain that hers were as well.

 

For once, she found herself consenting to the rumours, if only to goad the Gryffindor. “He was fine, but he never had that special something.”

 

That was a lie.

 

Blaise always had that special something. They all did. Harry, Blaise – Draco, even. Smith was like collateral damage. The others, though…

 

They were all special, even if she hated it. She never told anyone the truth about Blaise because he was too close to love and she hated love. Love was an emotion that was strong and hard and terrible and consuming. And she hated Harry for that. And she hated Draco for ruining everything that used to be inside her that could potentially love.

 

McLaggen’s eyes glanced down her legs and he half kneeled on the floor, lifting up her ankle and staring up at her with a loaded amount of intent in his dizzy eyes. “His loss,” he muttered, pressing small kisses along the side of her left foot and up her calf.

 

_This_ was the first move – throwing himself at _her_ feet.

 

Unexpected.

 

He was like Draco without the Draco. Because Draco would do this – throw her expectations, just like this – but she knew she’d have blood filling her mouth later; with all of the bliss came the pain. Draco had a marvelous capacity for causing pain, but he couldn’t take it well. And _she_ had to **return** the pain and _everything_ hurt her more than it should have done with Draco. McLaggen was like how she hoped Smith would be, just because he was a Hufflepuff. A good, _kind_ – even if annoying – Hufflepuff, who talked of big game but he couldn’t deliver. Smith was disappointing; McLaggen didn’t appear to be the same.

 

_Impressive_.

 

His lips tingled along her thigh and he kneeled fully between her legs as she unzipped her skirt.

 

It was thrown into the pile with her knickers seconds later and McLaggen was nosing at her cunt, his tongue trailing along her. She uncapped and took another pull from her flask, inhaling a breath full of smoke, while his mouth danced over her clit.

 

Yes, _definitely_ impressive.

 

He knew his way around a cunt in ways that she wasn’t used to. There was no fumbling. Just straight – _‘I know where to touch you and I know **exactly** what gets you off. Your Gräfenberg spot is no mystery to me, sweetheart.’_

 

She could vividly imagine what he’d say if he could speak.

 

Enticing, arrogant, and _appealing_ tosser.

 

Daphne pressed her toes against McLaggen’s bulge in his trousers and she felt him hiss against her skin as she stroked along him with her foot. “Don’t stop,” she whispered, gripping his hair with her free hand. One of her legs was thrown over his shoulder.

 

He sucked and licked and tasted and probed. And he was bloody good at it. She found herself whimpering from how good he was at giving bloody head. No wonder he was such an egotistical cock. She briefly wondered how he fucked.

 

And, suddenly, she didn’t want to come yet. No. She wanted to come with that heat and pressure that she felt under her foot – _filling_ her.

 

Flicking her half-smoked cigarette out the window, she lifted him off and found herself unzipping his trousers, tugging them down to his thighs and pulling him up and onto her.

 

Jesus, he was heavy.

 

“Now,” she muttered breathlessly and she didn’t have to tell him twice.

 

It was then that he kissed her, pushing inside her and tangling with her nerves. Sex was personal in a way that nothing else could be. She’d planned on just exchanging head and maybe catching up later, but she just _had_ to get sex involved. They were both appalling people. And that thought stroked deep inside her, caressing her like a knife. But, at the same time, it was terrifyingly thrilling, in the way his cock was buried so deep. It was hard and pounding and he knew all of the spots to hit because he was fucking good at this in the way that _she_ was good at this.

 

They _manipulated_ people through this. Both of them. She wasn’t the only one. She could _feel_ it from the moment his lips touched her skin. He did this too.

 

She was fucking a male Gryffindor version of her sexual self and she nearly wanted to laugh at the madness of it. He tasted like vodka, sex, and filthy unadulterated lust and she wanted to bite him – so she did. He’d leave with a bruise on his neck; if he didn’t know any decent glamour charms, he’d have to live with it as a trophy. He probably would do that regardless, knowing him. Knowing his brashness.

 

Daphne gripped his back and bucked against him, making him go that last inch. Her cunt stretched around his cock deliciously and she couldn’t help but shiver. He was marking with his mouth along her right breast. Fucking her for all he was worth.

 

“Make me come, McLaggen. Nothing would piss him off more,” she muttered between her gasping breaths, appealing to his revenge plot, even if she knew differently. But it worked.

 

He was determined.

 

She was so close, with his fingers sliding around her clit in time with his strokes. Just a little more of _something_ would tip her over the edge. His mouth was at her neck, making a mark she’d have to heal later and, suddenly, his hips shifted, swirling upwards and hitting her _just fucking right_.

 

Oh, yes, just like that.

 

Daphne came with a gasping moan, clutching onto McLaggen’s back and leaving streaks of red across his flesh with her nails. 

 

“Gods,” McLaggen groaned, his eyes screwed shut tight as he pounded through her orgasm, coming to completion not long after. She watched every expression on his face and smirked through it, clenching extra hard on his cock just to make it better for him. Since he wasn’t pulling out and coming all over whatever body part he preferred, he was definitely a deep one – he liked tight heat around his cock while he came. It wasn’t hard to guess.

 

He gasped and moaned openly, not holding back a thing, with his eyes closed and his lips parted in bliss. It was like winning a prize, watching this.

 

And Daphne loved winning. 

 

**}-{}-{}-{**

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
